


when all the stars align

by gavorn



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Jedi!Theron, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, criminal gloss-over of canon plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavorn/pseuds/gavorn
Summary: “we'll find we can meet in the middle / bodies and souls collide / dance in the moonlight / when all the stars align." - you & i, pvris"You love him." She's still watching his face, he can feel it like she's burning a hole through him."I," he says numbly. "I. Yeah. I do."He’s never had tothinkabout it before, not like this, hasn’t tried to tie it up in words all neatly because he’s never breathed a syllable aloud.It’s not a surprise, though. He’s always known.He loves him.And it’s going to make a mess of him. And it’s going to break his heart. And it doesn’t matter, because he’d rather have Theron like this than not have him at all. He’d rather hurt like this forever than lose him completely. That’s never been a question.None of it has been, not really, except how far can Haem blur the lines, how long until Theron stops having patience for him, how long Haem’s going to fall before he hits bottom. He’s been falling since he first laid eyes on Theron back on Telos and the ground dropped out from under him. He’s still falling now.
Relationships: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython/Theron Shan, Male Outlander/Theron Shan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	when all the stars align

After Kira has explained everything to the Order, after Haem has sworn his belief in her, Satele takes him aside. 

“I am going to tell you this once,” she says, which has his interest caught immediately. “Before you go to Tatooine, you need to go to Telos IV. I have given your droid a location. Be there.” 

“What?” What the hell does she want on Telos? 

She doesn’t look amused.

“ _Once_ ,” she repeats. “Even if your Padawan has to drag you there.” She glances at Kira pointedly, who nods quickly. 

“Sure,” she says, though she looks just as baffled as Haem feels. “I’ll do that.”

Satele still looks like she doesn’t quite believe them, but she nods. “Good luck, Haematic.”

“ _Telos?_ ” He asks Kira as they’re leaving, and she shrugs helplessly. 

“How would I know?” 

“T7 = has location,” T7 chirps helpfully. 

“Why is he the only one of us who knows what he’s doing?” Haem muses. 

Kira shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says, “But he’s all we have.” 

“T7 = valuable member of team!” 

“I don’t like this,” Kira admits. “I don’t know what could be important enough to make Master Kiwiiks wait.” 

“It has to be, though. Right? Satele wouldn’t delay us for just anything.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Kira shakes her head. “For Master Kiwiiks’s sake, at least.” 

It’s certainly out of the way. Haem’s already annoyed by the time they land, to say nothing of what a pain in the ass it is actually finding the coordinates she’d provided. By the time they’re approaching, the sun is low. Haem and T7 are both covered in dirt and sweat and blood - none of it belonging to T7, for obvious reasons, though he’s far from unscathed. 

“When we get back to the ship,” Haem informs him, “I’m showering for a _year._ ” 

“T7 + oil bath and polish = dream.” 

“She couldn’t have picked a spot near the Academy, could she? Had to go for the middle of nowhere.”

The exact location is, yes, the middle of nowhere. An empty building, which is the complete opposite of reassuring. 

It's dark inside, tiny cracks of light coming through the broken ceiling. 

“Stay close,” Haem warns, but T7’s answering chirp has barely registered when he hears footsteps. 

“That the one we’re supposed to get, boss?” Haem can’t tell which of the silhouettes slowly surrounding them had spoken. 

“They said a Jedi, didn’t they?” The voice doesn’t sound especially certain. “Okay, boys. Let’s do this.” 

Mandalorians. 

They’re stepping into the light just as Haem realizes, wondering why the hell things can’t just be easy for once. 

“Go here,” he murmurs to T7. “It’ll be quick. You’ll be on Tatooine in no time.” 

T7 peeps a laugh. 

There’s movement in the rafters. Haem can’t quite focus, but there’s someone else here. Not a Mando. 

“None of that,” the loudest of the Mandalorians says, raising his blaster. “Okay, let’s - “

He gets cut off abruptly by a lightsaber through his throat. 

“Holy shit,” Haem says.

“T7 = impressed.”

The blade moves fast. There’s shots fired, but none of them make contact. 

That’s a lie. One hits a Mandalorian.

(The one who pulled the trigger looks pretty torn up about it, actually.)

Haem draws his lightsabers, but that’s about as far as he gets before he’s standing in a pile of bodies. 

“Okay,” he says, sheathing them. “Fun trick. But I do like knowing who I’m playing bait for.” 

The gold blade goes dark. A figure steps forward. He’s clearly Jedi, as if the lightsaber hadn’t been evidence enough, but his clothes are dark. His hair is shaved on the sides, but long enough to be pulled back. Haem has to wonder if it’s really practical. 

Also? He’s kind of gorgeous. His green eyes catch what little light is coming in through the cracks, and he’s got just enough stubble to accentuate his jawline, dusting over the vaguely disinterested expression on his face. 

“Not that I needed the help, but you could have made an attempt, at least.” 

“Hi,” Haem says stupidly, banter abandoned. He’s just self-aware enough to be glad Kira isn’t around, or he’d never hear the end of it. It's not his fault. There's this tug buried deep in his gut, this conviction that he's meant to be right here. That he's meant to be with this stranger, forgetting the Code, forgetting the Order. The Force is pulling at him in a way it never quite has before. Not like this, not this intensely, not this clearly. This is new. It's a lot to take in all at once.

The Jedi’s eyes narrow. “You’re not giving me much to work with.” 

Haem shakes himself. “Satele Shan sent me,” he says, and the Jedi sighs heavily. 

“I told her I didn’t need backup,” he says, already turning away. “You were an acceptable distraction, I guess. Can’t say much more than that.”

“T7 = has message.” 

They both turn to look at T7 at the same moment. This is news to Haem. 

“T7 = needs privacy,” he chirps at Haem. He scowls and leaves to wait outside.

They both come out about five minutes later. 

“Put it on a recording so I can’t argue,” the Jedi says, half under his breath. “That’s low.”

Haem probably shouldn’t ask, but he’s definitely going to.

“What, exactly?”

Another long, exasperated sigh. “Apparently,” he says, “I’m coming with you.”

“ _What?_ ” Stars, he is not doing well with the surprises the last few days. “T7, you knew about this?”

“T7 = did not watch message. T7 = excellent secret keeper.” 

“Great,” Haem says, already trying to figure out how he’s supposed to go on like this. “Who the hell are you?” 

The Jedi starts to exhale, and Haem interrupts “I’ve had a really long day and if you start sighing at me again, I swear I’m - “

“Theron,” he says flatly. “Theron Shan.” 

“ _Oh_.” 

It’s something of an open secret that Satele’s son is in the Order. She hasn’t bothered denying the rumors - it’s not exactly a real option. But that doesn’t mean anyone knows much about him. There are stories, sure. That he works alone, that he never stays in one place long, that he gets things _done_. 

Nobody ever said he was hot, though. Or that he was kind of a dick. 

“Theron,” Haem repeats, and he nods.

“Yeah. That’s my name. Are you always like this?”

T7 starts chirping. Haem’s eyes widen. 

“Don’t finish that!” he warns. “No. I’m not.” 

Theron still looks doubtful.

“I’m Haem,” he adds. 

“I know. She told me.” 

“Great.” 

It’s impossible not to be aware of how much of a _mess_ he is right now. What he could’ve done differently if Satele had specified he was going to go pick up her hot son, he doesn’t know, but he feels sure there’s something. 

“We should go,” Haem says. “It’s taken long enough to get to Tatooine already.” 

Theron makes himself comfortable on the ship quickly. Haem thinks he does, at least. It’s not the easiest to tell. Kira looks absolutely gleeful when they’re introduced, and Haem knows he’s going to hear all about it later. 

She corners him in his room after Theron’s left for his quarters. 

“ _That’s_ Master Satele’s son?” she asks incredulously. “How? Why?” 

“When two people love each other,” Haem says flatly, and she laughs. 

“He’s gorgeous,” she says. “What? I’m a Jedi. I’m not blind.” 

“Be pretty hypocritical of me to complain.” 

She glances at him, then double-takes. “You’re serious?”

“I’m a Jedi,” he repeats dryly. “I’m not blind.” 

“Explains why you were all blushy when you got back to the ship.”

“I was not!” 

She pats his shoulder. “You were.”

He sighs. “Do you…” He hates how childish he feels. “Do you think he noticed?”

“It would be absolutely impossible for him not to.”

“Great.” 

He kind of wants to stay in his room until they get to Tatooine, to retreat til he can learn how to manage these _feelings_ he’s having. But he still feels absolutely disgusting, still needs to get other people’s blood off of his skin.

That damned communal refresher. 

It’d seemed like a pain in the ass at first, but they’d gotten over it. He and Kira had made a schedule, even, so they wouldn’t have to be awkward about it.

Okay, Kira had made a schedule.

Okay, fine. T7 had made a schedule. 

Theron hasn’t been accounted for. 

All Haem can do is hope that all that time alone hasn’t affected his boundaries too much. 

He reaches the refresher, strips as fast as he can, and gets under the spray. It takes what feels like an eternity of scrubbing for the sweat and blood to leave his skin. There’s something deeper bothering him - the kind of want he can usually set aside. Nobody ever said Jedi couldn't get off at all, and it's not like he's any stranger to touching himself, but it's a lot harder not to feel guilty about it when he's thinking about a specific person. Especially when the person is on his ship. _Especially_ especially when they're another Jedi, when they're related to Master Satele, for the stars' sake. He tries meditating, but he's never been good enough at that for it to make any difference. Eventually he just gives in. 

(He comes, but he feels like shit about it. The fact he kept half-expecting - oh, hell, he can be honest, _hoping_ Theron would come in only multiplies the guilt.)

He’s never felt want so closely directed before. It’s always been aimless, formless. He’s found people attractive, sure, but nobody’s ever gotten to him like this. Nobody has ever stuck with him. 

And he’s certainly never had to _live_ with someone he was attracted to. Theron is professional. He keeps a distance, which makes Haem wonder how subtle he’s actually being. 

They get to Tatooine. Haem and Kira spend two weeks dragging through the desert, clearing out crazy abandoned factories and eventually, yes, finding Master Kiwiiks. Haem manages to talk a Sith Lord into joining the Order, which he considers quite possibly his biggest accomplishment to date. 

When he gets back to the ship at the end of that day, Theron’s waiting in the meeting room, arms folded, leaning back against the wall. He looks suspicious, but more interested than he has since showing up in the first place. 

“You converted a _Sith Lord?_ ” 

Haem should have figured that’s what it would be about.

“I did.”

He’s watching Haem like he’s never seen him before. “You confronted a Lord of the Sith, and you decided to make him into a damned Jedi.” 

“I did.”

Theron actually breaks a smile at that. “I feel bad for the poor bastard who’s going to get him as a Padawan.”

“At least they won’t have to teach him how to use a lightsaber.” 

Theron's grin widens. Haem’s never seen him smile before. He’d definitely remember. It’s beautiful.

Stars, he's far gone, isn't he? He's barely been on the ship the last two weeks beyond occasionally dropping in to sleep for the night, but he'd thought maybe it would have gotten easier. It sounds stupid now. He's barely seen Theron at all. Of course he's not used to him yet.

"We're headed to Alderaan," he says, possessed by some boldness. "Do you want to come out in the field with me? I know you work alone, but if you're going to be here, you might as well - "

"Yes." 

Haem hadn't expected him to agree that quickly. He blinks at him.

"I'm not doing all the work this time, though," Theron adds.

"Now I'm actually going to know what I'm doing, so no."

"Can you promise that?" He still looks a little skeptical. 

"I promise." Haem feels like he’s betraying more than he means to, like he’s promising more than just to carry his own weight in a fight. How much of his emotions are bleeding through, he doesn't know. It’s possible the desperation and the vulnerability he’s tried so hard to bury are clear.

If Theron can tell, he doesn’t say so. “...Okay,” he says, still watching Haem’s face. “Alderaan, then.”

“Alderaan,” Haem confirms.

Kira’s waiting in his room. 

This time, he’s not that shocked to see her. “Guess you’re planning to make this a habit,” he says. 

“I think we’re close enough by now not to worry about boundaries.” 

He hums noncommittally. 

“What were you talking about?” she asks innocently. Haem isn’t fooled for a second.

“I said I would take him with me for Alderaan.” 

She grins. 

“Don’t say anything,” he warns.

“I was just going to say that T7 and I could use the break,” she insists. “Really. Who do you think I am, Master?” 

He makes a face. 

“You know I don’t like when you call me that.” 

“You _are_.” 

“I _know_ I am. You don’t have to remind me all the time.” 

She grins. “What kind of Padawan would I be if I let you forget?”

“A good one,” he mumbles. “I’m only a year older than you.” 

“I’m being respectful,” she says, in a voice that indicates being respectful is not a priority. 

“I hate everyone on this ship.”

Kira laughs. “You don’t mean that,” she says. “Jedi aren’t supposed to hate.” 

Alderaan hurts. 

It’s fine at first. They make a better team than Haem had expected - in the field he doesn’t have time to get tongue-tied or overthink, he just acts. And Theron is (maybe a little surprisingly) willing to follow his lead. If he has a problem with it, it’s buried so far deep Haem can’t detect it.

(And he’s attempted.)

Haem thinks things are going well. And then he loses Master Orgus.

It hurts more than it should, more than it has any right to. He hadn’t known him for long, really, hadn’t ever felt particularly close to him, but he’d been there. He’d given Haem a _chance_. Nobody else had ever stuck around that long. He’d gone through a dozen Masters, and every one of them had given up. 

Nobody had ever trusted him. And Haem can’t help feeling like maybe they were right. 

Things only get worse after that. Uphrades is a disaster Haem is wholly unequipped to deal with. He’s a blunt object. He goes where they tell him to go and he hurts who he has to hurt and he tries to help people in the in-between. He doesn’t know how to fix this. 

He needs time before Tython, but he doesn’t have it. All he has is the time it takes to get there. 

He’s curled up on his bed when there’s a knock on his door. He expects Kira, so he doesn’t bother with a response, because she’s prone to letting herself in regardless and apologizing later. 

The door cracks open. 

“Hey,” Theron says, and Haem cranes his neck up to see him before dropping it back to the pillow. “Mind if I come in?” 

“Mm.”

Theron takes it as agreement, apparently, because he closes the door behind him and sits down on the bed. 

“You were close?”

Haem sits up just enough to hold a conversation. “No.”

“No?”

“I only met him a few months ago.”

Theron’s watching him. Haem sighs and elaborates. 

“He gave me a shot,” he says, shaking his head like it’ll help his thoughts make sense. “Every other Master I’ve ever had gave up. Said I was too emotional, or too impulsive, or too _much_. But he trusted me. Even when he didn’t have any reason to.” 

Theron’s still quiet. 

“I think maybe he was wrong.” He’s been trying not to admit that. He’s never been good at lying, though. “Because I - “ he gestures vaguely to the exterior of the ship. “He’s _dead_. And I couldn’t even stop this.” 

“Nobody could have stopped this.” 

Haem swallows. “Great,” he says. “Thanks.”

Theron sighs. “If I thought I could have done better, I would have.” Haem eyes him doubtfully. “If I would have done anything differently, I would’ve done it. If I thought you were making mistakes, I wouldn’t have followed you. You did everything you could. Sometimes things just go wrong.” 

"Not like this."

"Exactly like this."

"I think the Council made a mistake," Haem blurts. 

Theron's still perfectly composed. He doesn't ask him to elaborate. 

"They didn't." 

Haem shakes his head helplessly, and Theron adds "Not this time, anyway."

"I shouldn't -"

"You should," Theron interrupts, "And you are." 

Haem hadn't noticed himself straightening until this moment. He's sitting up completely now, starting to mirror Theron's posture. 

"You failed," Theron says. "But nobody could have done better."

"You don't know that."

"You're _good._ " He sounds a little exasperated now, like the veneer of indifference is finally wearing thin. "I just spent a week watching you work. You're so much better than you think you are." 

He's leaned in a little as he got more heated, and they can't be more than six inches apart now. Haem's suddenly, painfully aware of his own breathing. 

Theron's tongue darts out over his lips for just a second.

Stars, he can't stop staring at Theron's mouth.

He has to.

He can't.

The door flies open.

"We're back," Kira says urgently. "We have to go." 

Once they're on the Oppressor, T7 offers to deal with security. Between Haem, Theron, and Kira, they make short work of the defense.

Haem figures the day can't get any worse than it already has, and then Kira gets possessed.

She shakes it off like a champ, though. 

Okay, so that's putting it mildly. Haem is immensely proud of her and all that.

It feels good getting back to Tython, for once.

Master Satele greets Haem and Kira warmly, Theron cordially. If Haem didn't know they were related, he would have assumed they didn't like each other much. 

For all he knows, they don't, but it's not his place to ask.

Even if he wants to.

He loses track of his crew at some point during the celebrations. The last he'd seen T7, some younglings were making him a flower chain. Kira had already vanished.

He doesn't have the faintest idea where Theron is. Well, until Theron taps him on the shoulder. He motions to an empty balcony.

Haem is happy to follow. 

Once they're alone, Theron's quiet.

"Hero of Tython," he says finally. "Congratulations."

"You don't have to come with us," Haem says, and there's a flicker of something inscrutable on Theron's face. "I mean. Master Satele would probably let you go back to doing your own thing, if you wanted."

Theron doesn't look at him.

"Or you could stay," Haem adds. "I figured that was a given. Because we work well together. And we like having you around." 

"We?"

"I," Haem says. "I like having you around."

Theron's quiet for a while. Finally he turns and heads back inside the Temple. 

"I'll see you on the ship, Haem."

He gave up on not forming attachments a long time ago. He can admit he didn't like the idea of Theron leaving now. Leaving them, he wants to think, but he knows damn well he means leaving _him_ , and that's the awful difference. 

Because Theron is a lot better at being a Jedi than Haem is ever going to be. So whatever feelings Haem has, whatever feelings he doesn't have - they don't matter. He has to learn to live with that.

After that, it’s quiet for a while. The galaxy seems to stop being in need of saving, which is something of a relief at first, but Haem’s not made for drifting, and it wears on him fast. They find things to do, sure, they make themselves useful, but it’s difficult to admit that he’s grown used to being _needed_ and he isn’t sure how to come back from that. The four of them get comfortable together, though. There’s that. It’s easier to coexist after the Oppressor. 

When Master Orgus appears to Haem, he’s inordinately grateful, and if pressed he’d have to admit it’s less about seeing him and more about having a real purpose again. It’s not healthy, he knows, it’s not sustainable, he knows, but there’s a need clawing in his stomach and he doesn’t know any other way to fill it. 

They go back to Tatooine. 

Tatooine, Tython, Balmorra. It all blurs together. Haem’s just happy to be moving again. 

They meet a doctor for the resistance, a guy insisting he just be called Doc, and eventually he asks to come with them. Haem’s not keen on the idea - he’s been pissed since the moment the guy started harassing Kira - but he accepts, begrudgingly. They’re really not in much of a position to turn away any help they can get. Theron seems to agree, if the looks he keeps giving Haem are any indication. It’s not much more than eye contact every time Doc speaks, but Haem knows him well enough by now, and it feels like a secret he’s being let in on. It feels good. 

They’re on the way to Quesh.

Theron’s holed up in the back room, with the cargo hold. He spends less time there now than he’d used to, but it’s closer to being his own than anywhere else on the ship.

He's meditating there when Haem finds him. 

"Hey," Haem says, sitting inelegantly on the floor beside him without waiting for a response. The boundaries have thinned there, too, not so much as with Kira, but when you live with someone for a year you have to let certain walls down. Theron's given up on maintaining much of a distance, and especially on trying to remind Haem that he's supposed to be doing these things too. Meditation has never worked for Haem. There's too much going on in his head. He has to be moving, or it's like it all has time to catch up with him. 

Theron opens his eyes. "Hey." He knows better than to try and get anything done now. Haem has that effect on people. 

"Quesh," Haem says. 

"Quesh," Theron confirms. "Have you slept since we got back to the ship?" 

He has Haem's number. It's been...twelve hours, maybe? And however long they'd spent on Balmorra before that. Interstellar travel wreaks havoc on his internal clock. 

"I drank two cups of caf," he says, and Theron sighs. 

"You're going to kill yourself," he says, looking exasperated. "Sleep. Before you leave the damned ship." 

"But I - "

" _Sleep_."

Haem's nothing if not petty. "Fine." He scoots the last few inches closer to Theron, and lies down, pausing just short of lowering his head into Theron's thigh. "I'll sleep."

"Really?" He doesn't sound genuinely mad so much as resigned. 

Haem closes his eyes and drops his head the last inch, using Theron as a pillow. "You should know better than to ask that by now."

"Fine." Theron's hand starts running through his hair. It's surprising - first that he's doing it at all, second that it's actually very soothing. "Go to sleep, you baby."

Haem sleeps. Haem sleeps better than he has in months.

Kira keeps eyeing him knowingly while they get ready to leave. She doesn't actually say anything about it til they're already planetside. 

"So," she starts, and Haem gives her a halfhearted glare.

"Don't even."

"Sleeping in his lap? Really?"

She doesn't look as gleeful about it as she might have previously. It makes him wonder what exactly she saw, if the whole thing could have seemed uncomfortably genuine. She teases him, but he doesn't know where the line is, when it stops being a simple inconvenience and starts being the kind of connection Jedi aren't supposed to have.

He thinks he might have already started there. 

"Should I be worried?" she asks.

"More important things to worry about." 

She doesn't look convinced. She had to have noticed it wasn't a no, either.

Quesh is bizarre and Haem isn't sorry to see it go. 

For it to see him go? 

Doesn't matter. It's far behind him now. The events still stick in his mind, though. 

"He _knew_ me," he tells Theron, sprawled on the floor in the back room. Theron's been stretching for the better part of half an hour while he listens to Haem talk, carefully folding his body into different positions. It's kind of hypnotic to watch.

Maybe part of that is because he's not wearing a shirt. Haem's fine, though. Really.

The first time he'd walked in on it, he'd taken a very long, very cold shower. But he's used to it now. Maybe. He thinks.

"Knew you how?"

"I dunno." He considers. "My face, and my voice, and my...me." 

"Your you," Theron repeats. "The Emperor's Wrath found you on Quesh, and he knew your you." 

"Well, it sounds weird when you say it like that." 

Theron's back is to him (and a lovely back it is) but enough of his face is visible for Haem to recognize the exasperated-but-fond smile he only ever seems to direct at Haem. 

(At least, that's what Haem thinks it is. Hopes it is.)

"Hoth next, then?"

Haem makes a face, which isn't really for anyone's benefit but his own. "Hoth," he confirms. 

"You actually going to sleep this time?"

He'd spent the last two nights in shitty camps planetside with Kira. His bed sounds kind of heavenly, actually, but he can think of something better. 

"Depends," he says, then promptly abandons all pretense of being vague. "Can I sleep on you again?"

Theron's sitting with his legs folded, leaning to one side, arm curved up over his head. He stills, and turns to look at Haem, face inscrutably blank. 

"Why?"

"Because I can't tell you the last time I slept that well?"

He has an uncanny feeling there's a right and a wrong answer. Apparently he passes, because Theron loosens, leaning down further into the stretch. "Fine."

"You're my favorite."

"Don't tell Kira that."

Theron straightens and stands, slipping on a loose grey tunic, before he starts fixing the pile of blankets he insists is enough to sleep on. 

("Sleeping on the floor is good for your back," he'd told Haem. "Okay," Haem said, "That implies you're actually going to be able to sleep.)

"What're you doing?" Haem asks, like it's not obvious. He just hadn't anticipated an actual bed entering the arrangement, even an objectively awful one.

"You think I'm willing to just watch you sleep for four hours?"

"Is that what you did last time?" Haem asks first, then "Wait, four?" 

"Some of us still actually do dawn meditations." 

He doesn't answer the first question, Haem notices.

"In that case," Haem says, before he can go through all the reasons he shouldn't, "I do have an actual bed."

Theron stops moving. 

"With an actual mattress," Haem adds. "That's soft. And probably terrible for your back."

"You want me to sleep in your bed with you," Theron says flatly.

"Well, it sounds weird when you say it like that."

If Theron appreciates the call-back, he doesn't say so. Haem sighs. "I sleep better when you're there," he says, bravado gone. "It doesn't have to be weird, or a big deal. If you're not comfortable, that's fine, I can - "

"It's fine," Theron says, turning and looking down at Haem. "Come on. Let's go." He extends a hand, and Haem takes it to drag himself upright. He doesn't realize he hasn't let go until they're across the ship in his quarters.

"Um," Theron says, and Haem lets go like Theron's hand is on fire. 

He swallows hard. "Sorry." 

He turns around to take off the heavy tunic he wears for battle and replace it with something lighter - less out of any sense of modesty and more because he can't bear to find out if Theron would look or not. After he's changed, he finds Theron's already on the bed, face blank, watching. Observing.

It's almost impossible not to preen a little, but he fights off the urge. 

"You just want me to be here?" 

Haem swallows. "If that's," he says. "I mean. Can I touch you?" 

It comes out a lot more loaded than he intended. Something shifts on Theron's face, though Haem can't quite tell what it means.

"Not like...not like that," Haem corrects quickly, even though yes, he'd very much like it to be. "I just meant...like before."

Theron's still watching him. It makes him nervous.

"Okay," Theron says finally, right as Haem's about to put his foot in his mouth again. "You can." 

It takes some maneuvering. It's hard to tell where the lines are, what touch is going to cross the boundary between safe and dangerous. Haem ends up pressed to Theron's back, and he can recognize the potential for disaster but the day has caught up with him all at once, and it's easy to ignore. To fight the dread, and the want, and just let their breathing sync. Theron smells clean and warm and comforting. His heartbeat is steady, not rabbit-fast like Haem’s own. It’d be easy to make a mistake. It’d be easy to hold him a little too close, to kiss his neck, to ruin everything all at once. Haem could, but he doesn’t. Not now. Not like this. Theron is already too important to risk losing. 

Haem dreams of Theron - Theron on his back with sunlight in his hair, Theron’s thigh slotted between Haem’s legs, Theron’s hands on his waist. It’s all too golden to be real, too perfect. Haem knows that, but he lets himself soak in it anyway. 

He wakes when Theron's prying himself away, gently extracting himself from where Haem had latched on during the night. He blinks at him blearily.

"Go back to sleep," Theron says, working his thigh out from between Haem's.

Fuck. He should have known better.

But he's still too exhausted to properly guilt himself over it, so he closes his eyes, and he's out again almost instantly. 

The next time he wakes, he’s alone, and the ship is quiet. 

They still have a few days' travel to Hoth, so he doesn't have to wonder if anyone's left. He's only taken a few steps out of his room when he hears arguing in hushed voices. It's easy to follow the sound to the back.

Theron and Kira.

He tries to keep enough of a distance to hear without interrupting. 

"He would," she says, "You know he would, and you know he'd - "

"It doesn't matter, because I'm not going to."

"Like hell you're not. Sleeping in his bed? Sith _hells_ , Theron, that's - "

"Just because you want him badly enough to break the Code doesn't mean I do."

Kira inhales sharply.

"You know that's not fair."

"Do I?" He sighs. "I don't want to talk about this again. He's listening, anyway."

They both turn to the doorway at the same moment. Haem's eyes widen. 

"Hi," he says, trying not to think about anything he'd just heard.

"Hey." Theron doesn't look especially thrilled to see him, but he's not angry, either. Kira's expression isn't one Haem has ever seen on her before - worried, he thinks, and hurting. 

“Hey,” she says. “I’ll leave you two alone. Theron, we’re finishing this conversation later.” 

“No, we’re not.” He doesn’t take his eyes off of Haem to watch her leave. He doesn’t say anything to Haem, either - just looks at him.

“Hi,” Haem repeats. Something about the combination of barely being woken up and Theron staring at him has him a little brain-dead. 

“You just - “ Theron makes a small, frustrated sound, and cuts himself off. “You’re just _like_ this, aren’t you?’

 _Like what_ , Haem wants to ask, but doesn’t. “You know me,” he says instead. “Pretty much. Yeah.”

Theron almost cracks a smile. “I should’ve figured.”

It kills him, just a little bit, when his brain catches up. He’s across the ship by the time he processes the conversation - processes Theron not wanting him - and he feels his heart fracture in his chest, delayed reaction no less sore for it. The knowledge that Theron’s still not going anywhere holds him together, some stubborn denial, some hope that Haem still can’t manage to crush beneath his heel like the last ember of a fire. 

(He chooses not to think about the Kira half of the conversation, about information he’d been willfully ignoring until now. It’s safer this way. Better. Easier.)

  
  


It takes several days to get to Hoth, so there's still a ways to go. Haem goes to bed that night and spends about an hour trying to figure out if it'd be crossing a line to ask Theron to come in. He feels guilty about the conversation they'd had, and more so, about the circumstances he'd woken up in. It's not sexual, for him, not while he's conscious - okay, so he wants it to be, big deal. He's not dumb enough to expect it, and he's certainly not dumb enough to ask. More than that he just likes having the company. There's something remarkably reassuring about sleeping with Theron beside him. 

He finally gives in and goes to the back room.

Theron's awake, or at least Haem thinks he is, sitting upright, legs folded. His head is down. 

"Hey," Haem says, as softly as he can. "I was just. If you, I mean, because I - "

"You're asking me to sleep with you again?" 

"Yeah."

There's a delay before Theron responds. 

"Are you going to make this a habit?'

"Depends on if you say yes or not." 

Theron sighs. 

"Yes."

"Then yes," Haem says. "As long as you keep agreeing, I'll keep asking." 

Theron watches him for so long Haem starts to wonder if he's changed his mind. 

"Okay," he says abruptly, right when Haem's wondering if he should say something. "Okay. Fine." 

He gets to his feet, nudges straight past Haem to the holo room. 

"You coming?"

Haem tries not to bolt after him. He doesn’t think he accomplishes his goal.

Hoth is every bit as bad as Haem had expected it to be, and then some. It's the kind of cold that sticks with you, that tears straight through your skin to wrap around your bones and nest there. Haem's ready to leave as soon as they arrive.

When he and Rusk reach the Cardiac, the difference is notable immediately. It's hot. Hotter than usual, actually. He’s exhausted - bone-tired, bone-cold. It’s always difficult, getting used to combat with a new partner around, and Rusk - however capable he is - is no exception. Haem doesn’t know him well enough to coordinate yet, so he’d ended up taking more hits than he would prefer. Nothing he won’t live through, of course, but his body aches all the same. 

"Hey," Kira calls from the top of the stairs. Her robes are hiked up, leaving her legs mostly bare. "You want the good news, or the bad news?"

"Good news?"

"You're not going to be cold for much longer," she says, grinning.

"Bad news?"

The grin drops. "Thermal regulator's broken."

"Oh."

"Theron and T7 have been working on it for the better part of two hours, but I guess we're missing some part or something? We're going to have to make a pit stop." 

Haem sighs, already discarding his armor before he's even up the stairs. "If we have to." He doesn't actually mind the heat all that much - he's warm-blooded - but he can admit it's excessive. "Normally the ship's not falling apart," he tells Rusk, who's carefully not looking at him. "I swear."

"I've lived in worse conditions, sir."

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable." He reconsiders. "As comfortable as you can."

Rusk nods and heads up. Haem looks to Kira.

"Theron and T7…?"

"Downstairs."

He gives her a brief hug as he walks by, and she makes a face. "Too hot," she insists. Haem rolls his eyes.

By the time he gets downstairs, he's wishing he'd taken longer. Theron's bent over a hatch in the wall in just his underwear, shining and sweaty and looking like he just stepped out of every wet dream Haem's ever had.

"Hey," he croaks, mouth suddenly dry.

"Hey." Theron doesn't stop what he's doing. "How'd things shake out with Rusk?"

"Good." Haem tries to think about other things. Master Orgus, and Master Satele, and the Emperor. Rancor drool. Dying akk dogs. "Brought him with me."

"Yeah?" Theron straightens and turns around, and Haem tries to pretend he's not staring. 

"Yeah." 

"This is pointless," Theron says, gesturing to the open panel. "Nothing we can do til we get that replacement. Closest place that has it is another day's flight." 

"T7 = woefully unprepared," T7 peeps regretfully. "T7 = will pack extras in future." 

"I should've checked." Theron turns to Haem. "Hope you can sleep in this, or it'll be a long night."

"I'm," Haem says eloquently. "I'll manage." 

"Are you sure?" He's scrutinizing Haem now. "You look dead on your feet. Maybe you should get some rest now." 

Which, okay, is not an unappealing idea. Kind of an ideal one, really, but Haem still wonders. Has to try. "Come with me?" he asks, eyes wide and pleading in that just-this-side-of-desperate way he's perfected. 

"You're still," Theron says, shaking his head, then "No. I mean, yes. Okay." 

"Okay?" 

Theron's grip closes around Haem's wrist. His fingers are strong, skin slick with sweat. 

"Okay," he repeats.

It’s familiar, now, going to bed with Theron. Haem thinks it shouldn’t be - hasn’t happened all that often - but somewhere the walk to his room stopped being awkward and started being easy, and Haem doesn’t know where. He just knows he’s letting Theron pull him up the stairs, down the hallway - that Theron’s hold on him is unnecessary because he’d follow him anywhere anyway, but he still never wants him to let go. Theron seems to be more comfortable with it, too, Haem thinks. That might be projection. But he’s not as stiff, his posture changed, and when he finally drops Haem’s wrist he gives him a surprisingly affectionate smile, and Haem’s heart explodes. 

Haem only hesitates for what feels like forever before taking his pants off. It's fair, he reasons, Theron already has, plus there's the fact he doesn't think he can sleep in the extra fabric even if he wanted to try. They lie down on the bed rather than in it, neither of them wanting to get tangled in sheets - on one level it's a blessing, but on another it means there's nothing between Haem's eyes and Theron's skin and he's pretty sure he's going to go blind but he _can't look away_. 

Mercifully, they don't touch. It's too damned hot for that, but Theron's facing Haem anyway, watching his face with an utterly unreadable expression. Some ghost of boldness possesses him, and Haem slides his hand across the mattress cautiously, reaching for Theron's once he's within touching distance. He leaves it outstretched, palm up, innocuous enough but an invitation all the same.

There's only a second for him to panic before Theron's taken it, twining their fingers together. It's a simple gesture. It might not mean anything to anyone but Haem - hell, it probably doesn't, if Theron's discussion with Kira the other morning had been accurate. To Haem, it's the world. Grounding, and gentle, and safe. 

That last one, especially, is funny, because he thinks it should be a mistake. He doesn't know where the line is that they can't come back from. If he had the capacity to be objective, he'd admit they already crossed it. That he started being a _bad Jedi_ the second he laid eyes on Theron to begin with.

He thinks it should be a mistake. It doesn't feel like one.

"Haem."

He turns to burrow further into the pillow, mumbling something unintelligible.

" _Haem_." More insistent this time. He cracks his eyes open to see Theron, sitting up, watching him intently.

"Mm?"

"You didn't say you got beat up this bad." 

Haem tilts his head up, glancing down at his own body. There's marks, places he remembers expecting bruises to come, ones that hadn't shown this vividly before.

"Oh," he says, "Yeah. Right."

Theron untangles their fingers (still?) and reaches out, tracing lightly along an especially dark spot on Haem's hip. 

"Let me look," he insists. Haem wonders if he'd planned it, if he knew Haem would agree to anything with Theron's hands on him. 

He turns onto his back obediently. Theron inspects the damage, and Haem can't tell if he would rather it end immediately or never. Theron’s hands are efficient, but gentle, and he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. Every bruise, every burn, is inspected carefully, no matter how minimal. It’s not exactly sexual - a tiny bit too painful for that, though not for lack of trying - but it’s intimate all the same. More intimate than anything Haem’s ever done before, certainly. 

Theron presses on his ribcage, and he flinches.

"Ow." 

"Not broken," Theron says, leaving his hand still for what feels like longer than he needs to. Haem has to bite down a protest when he finally pulls away, only for Theron to say "Turn over."

Fuck.

It's a good thing, it has to be. At the least it means he can stop trying so hard not to -

Well.

It's a good thing, he tells himself, flipping onto his stomach. It gets a lot harder to remember once Theron's moving closer, once he's - oh, sweet mother of a _Sith_ , straddling Haem's _hips,_ and _no way in hell_ is that necessary.

He bites down so hard on his lip he tastes blood in his mouth, trying not to make some humiliating sound. The pain is gone. Or, really, the pain stops mattering. 

Fortunately - unfortunately - Theron is just as thorough on this side as he'd been on Haem's chest, if not more so. After he's gone over what has to be every possible piece of skin, his hands go back to Haem's shoulders, lingering there.

"You're all knots," he says, and there's a thread of tension in his voice Haem doesn't think he's imagining. "This wouldn't happen if you did moving meditations with me." 

"You know I can't stay still that long." He hopes he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels.

"You're staying still now," Theron says, and without warning digs in his fingers and starts massaging out the tension. Trying to, anyway - Haem's pretty sure the tension front is not being helped. 

He can't hide his sharp inhale, but as far as vocal reactions, it could have been far worse. 

"You're holding me down," he manages, through some miracle keeping his voice steady. "I don't have much of a choice."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Theron says casually, and iron floods Haem's mouth again. 

He can't find a response to that, not one he's about to say aloud, anyway. Theron's hands are magic. They're certainly not doing anything to quiet his body, though. 

Neither of them speak for a while, which is a small mercy, because between Theron's hands and the things coming out of his mouth Haem's self-discipline is rapidly falling apart. He thinks maybe he's through the worst of it. And then Theron smooths an especially tight knot under his shoulderblade, and three things happen immediately following each other:

Haem is caught off-guard enough he can't quite swallow a moan.

Haem arches back, hips coming up off the bed, which leads directly to -

Haem's ass comes into contact with Theron, and he's hard.

They both freeze immediately. Haem is suddenly grateful he can't see Theron's face. Horrifically, he still has to focus all he can to keep from coming. His body fights it every second that goes by. 

And then all at once, Theron's gone. He carefully (quickly) untangles himself from Haem's body, and he's gone. Haem's not sure where - it's not like he was dressed or anything - but he's pretty sure it doesn't matter. He's pretty sure Theron's destination was _away from Haem_. 

He lies there for a few moments. His breathing seems unconscionably loud now that it's just him. 

It takes time to decide if he's going to keep fighting or not. Eventually want wins out over guilt, and he barely has to touch himself before he's coming, the echo of Theron's weight above him more than enough to push him over the edge. The guilt doesn't take long to set back in after. It was a normal reaction, Haem tries to think. Contact, and intimacy, and heat. It didn't mean anything. He doesn't believe it no matter how hard he tries to convince himself.

Eventually he drags himself up, puts on clean underwear, changes the sheets, if only for something to keep him in his room that much longer. 

His timing's pretty good, because as soon as he's done the door swings open without so much as a knock. For a second, hope springs, but it's just Kira (and Haem gets mad at himself again for having the nerve to hope at all.) 

She's a little flushed, which doesn't happen often. "Hey," she says, voice tight. "You want to tell me why Theron was just completely disregarding the schedule so he could jerk off in the shower?"

Haem doesn't know what crosses his face, but it clearly gives something away. He's kind of glad he'd done the same, actually (and what an image _that_ is), because he can't predict what he might have done otherwise. Stars, Theron touching himself. Because of _Haem_. Fuck, it's impossible not to imagine it. He must have been quiet, or the sound would've carried, Haem thinks. Did silence come easily, or did he have to muffle it, to bite down on his lip or hand or -

Kira lets out a breath. 

"I want you to be happy," she says, "Both of you. But this is...I hope you know what you're doing."

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

Evidently he sounds pathetic enough, because she steps forward, gingerly hugs him instead of chastising him.

"Come on," she says eventually, stepping back and taking Haem's hand. "Can't hide in here forever."

It's virtually impossible to avoid someone on a ship as small as the Cardiac, but Haem tries. Not hard, admittedly, but he tries. He succeeds until he gets tired of succeeding, and when he steps into the back, Theron's there, doing those fucking stretches, dressed despite the heat. His face is blank, his hair wet, staring intently at nothing. Haem can't help but to look him over like he's checking for something, and, yeah, there's a fresh bite mark on his wrist, and stars -

Stars, stars, _stars_ , that's hot. Blisteringly, unfairly, spontaneous combusting-ly hot. 

"Hey," Haem manages.

Theron very pointedly doesn't look at him. "Hey." He's guarded. Withdrawn. It makes sense, it's only fair, but it still feels like a kick in the gut. 

"Are we okay?" It sounds juvenile, but he doesn't know where else to start. Doesn't know what can encapsulate the _I'm sorry, but only because you are, not because I didn't want to_ , and the _I care about you even if I can't have you,_ the _you are so, so important to me and_ _I'm terrified I'm going to lose you because I want too much_. Haem can't say any of it outright, so he says _are we okay_ and hopes that Theron understands the things he doesn't know how to say. 

"There is no _we_ ," Theron snaps, sharp enough Haem flinches. Theron doesn't get angry at him. Annoyed, exasperated, yes, but never angry.

Haem stares at the carpet. Out of the corner of his eye Theron finally looks at him. 

"Haem," he says, voice softer. "That wasn't fair. I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, I get it." He shouldn't have let himself be surprised. Theron has made his feelings entirely clear. "I just meant," he says, eyes locked on the wall now. "Friends, I guess. Because I already - but. It's okay. I get it." 

Theron's hand lifts for just a second in some aborted gesture before dropping. It's impossible not to notice even in Haem's peripheral vision. "Yeah," he says, after they're both quiet for a long time. "Yeah, we're okay."

They stop at some shady port and get the replacement part in the morning, and then set course for the Emperor's ship. It takes a couple days to get there. Haem sleeps alone. Theron doesn't come to his bed, and Haem doesn't ask him to.

And then everything goes to shit. 

Being told what happened utterly wrecks Haem. A year. He'd lost a _year_ , just letting them use him like a fucking puppet. Not fighting. Not _knowing_. 

Nothing has ever scared him that badly. 

His body is his own. It's the one thing he understands. Having that taken away is devastating. 

Having that taken away, and finding out what's been done to the people he loves? A thousand times more so.

When the Wrath offers to help, Haem doesn't fight it. He's not in any position to refuse - and something tells him he's being sincere, anyway. Haem trusts him. Maybe that's stupid, considering what they've all just been through. It's a gut feeling, like the one he'd gotten when he first looked at Theron. Another reminder. 

Haem doesn't let himself focus on Theron when they reunite, or none of them would have made it out at all. He's safe, which is the important thing. He's in one piece. For the moment, that's enough. It has to be.

Scourge gets comfortable, or as comfortable as he seems capable of getting, and they all go to their separate beds. Haem still hasn't spoken to Theron alone since waking up. He doesn't know what he'd even say. Presumably nothing has changed since their last major conversation - if anything he'd expect Theron to ask for _more_ distance. After the things he'd been through? The things he might have seen Haem do? Certainly it'd be a disaster asking him to come in. 

Haem takes off his armor carefully, layer by layer. He stares down at his body for a long time. It looks the same as he remembers, which is difficult to reconcile, considering what he knows he's been doing. A _year_. He's still stuck on that. An entire year, lost. 

He forces himself to lie down eventually, but he didn't have enough time to get used to sleeping alone again even before he'd left. He can't get comfortable for the life of him. The bed feels foreign, his body even more so, stiff and aching in unfamiliar places. He stands pretending he has no real destination in mind, but he knows it's a lie.

It wouldn't have mattered if it wasn't, though. Haem opens his door to see Theron standing there, expression as inscrutable as ever. It's the first good look he's gotten, and it's every bit as painful as he'd expected. The shadows under Theron's eyes are dark, the shaved sides of his hair grown long. The usual near-transparent coat of stubble on his face is significantly thicker, but it can't quite conceal how sunken his cheeks are, and there's a bone-tired exhaustion in his eyes Haem wishes wasn't familiar. He's not wearing much, but Haem isn't either. It's a testament to how bad he feels that the combination doesn't short-circuit his brain.

"Hi."

"Hi," Theron says, and neither of them seem to know what to follow it with for the next several moments until they both do.

"I was going," Theron says, and "Do you want to?" Haem asks, and they both cut themselves off. 

Theron speaks first. "Yes," he says, and steps past Haem into the room. 

Haem still doesn't know what to do with himself. He's still just as uncertain around Theron as he's ever been. But having him around takes some of the awful weight off his chest, makes it that much easier to breathe. Theron lies down, with a searching glance at Haem like he's asking for verification. Haem mirrors, and Theron relaxes, just a little. It's almost imperceptible, but then again, Haem has spent a lot of time watching him. 

"Can I," Theron says hesitantly, reaching towards him. Haem nods - if only because all his words would say too much _, of course_ and _yes please_ and _anything you want, anything for you_.

Theron's touch is feather-light at first, tracing Haem's chest, but it grows bolder. By the time he reaches Haem's hip, it's firm, mapping out Haem's skin. Cataloguing the changes, seemingly. There's a handful of new scars he hadn't found himself. He doubts he'll ever learn where they came from. Theron smooths across every single one like if he finds the right place, he'll erase them, keep the whole thing from ever having happened. 

He skirts the edges of Haem's underwear carefully. Haem knows why, doesn't push for more, but it's hard to keep his body still when every touch is too much and yet not enough. When Theron's inspection ends, he draws his hand back. Neither of them seem certain of what comes next.

Haem reaches out, and Theron draws a long breath, and nods.

Theron's looked at Haem before. Checking injuries, mostly, which is usually justified - but Haem's never really looked at Theron. Not laid out bare in front of him like this. Not with permission.

He doesn't _feel_ entirely unfamiliar. Haem has woken up tangled with him more than once before. He's leaner in the places where Haem is broad, shoulders and hips, albeit not by much. More so now, Haem suspects. He makes a note to ensure Theron stays fed now that he's safe. There are new scars on him, too. Back, and wrists, and some especially troubling ones on his neck. Haem's fingers linger on his throat a little too long, because Theron breaks the silence. 

"Shock collar," he says bluntly. Haem can feel the words vibrating through him, and he draws back, moves on. The implications are horrific, but on some awful level he knows he has to know. To understand exactly what happened, because otherwise his brain will never stop finding new horrors to suspect. 

His inspection doesn't seem to last as long as Theron's. He can't tell if it just felt shorter because he'd had control this time, or if he'd deliberately made it easier for himself. Time spent touching Theron's body is a good thing, yes, but it is also a very dangerous one. 

He lets his hand stay on Theron's chest once he's done. There's something remarkably comforting about feeling his heartbeat beneath Haem's palm, constant and steady. It's an inescapable reminder that he's still alive.

Theron must notice the distant look in his eyes, because he takes Haem by the wrist, tugs him down so they're both laying flat again. This is familiar - and the end of the contact, Haem suspects, though he's grateful for what he'd had already. Instead Theron nudges closer and wraps his arms around Haem, burying his face in his hair.

"Theron," Haem says.

"Sleep." 

It still doesn't come easy, but it's _easier_. Theron's breathing is steady enough Haem finds himself mirroring it without trying, his weight at Haem's back a reassurance beyond words. Haem's still scared, still horrified by whatever he's done, but he's surprised to find that against all odds he feels _safe_.

They return to Tython.

It's strange being back. Haem can't shake the feeling he's being stared at, that everyone knows what he's done. As if it's written across his face. He's never feared notoriety before.

The council is (perhaps understandably) reluctant to believe Scourge. Having three Knights vouch for him helps, but it still takes time. 

When Haem leaves to his room for the night, he's bone-tired. Exhausted. He doesn't ask for Theron (he'd be lying if he pretended he didn't want to) because he figures at this point, Theron has to know he's always wanted in Haem's bed. Every single way that could be interpreted. 

He falls asleep alone, and disappointed. He wakes up again who-knows-how-much later, lifts his head up blearily to blink at the room. 

"Shh," Theron says gently, nudging him back down onto his side. "S'just me." He doesn't have to bother. Haem relaxes the second he realizes who he is. Theron fits himself along Haem's back, arm around his chest. It feels good. Safe. He hadn't realized exactly how much easier it was to sleep with Theron next to him. He'd gotten used to it. 

Haem wakes to chatter from the hallway, and he drags himself out of bed quickly. 

"Come on," Doc complains. "These are surgeon's hands. You couldn't trust me with one measly pair of scissors?"

"Not against my neck, no." Theron.

Doc makes a huffing sound. "Next time you come back here falling to pieces I bet you'll be singing a different tune."

Haem follows the conversation to the back. Theron's sitting, looking unamused, Kira behind him cutting at his hair. It had been down just past his shoulders, though almost all of it is on the ground now. Haem's hair is the same as always, though the usual braid had been missing when he woke. He guesses styling was more a priority for Sith apprentices than prisoners. 

Doc is leaning against the wall, watching the whole thing. He doesn't look nearly as put out as he'd sounded.

"Not using a lightsaber?" Haem asks. Kira looks up and grins, and Haem notes her hair is back to its default, the year's worth of growth scattered on the floor. 

"He wouldn't let me."

"I have enough new scars, thanks."

Kira's clipping the sides short enough for skin to be visible, similar to before, but the middle is already significantly shorter than Haem's ever seen it. Hanging in Theron's face, just shy of covering his eyes. 

"Done." She sweeps loose hair off Theron's shoulders. "You owe me."

It looks good on him. That's not a surprise. Haem can't think of anything that wouldn't.

It does do especially nice things for his cheekbones, though. 

Theron stands, shaking off the last of the debris. They'll probably never get the floor back here clean again, Haem notices absently.

"Thoughts?" 

"Looks good," Haem says, and his chest only aches a little. 

"Glad you think so." 

Why the hell would he _say_ that? Does he have to make things any more difficult to deal with than they already are? He _knows_ Haem has feelings for him. He knows damn well.

Stars, that _look_ on his face. Haem can't deal with it. 

"I'm," he says, stepping back. "Shower." 

"T7 puts too much work into that schedule for you assholes to just shower whenever you feel like it," Kira scolds. "I'm kidding. Have fun." She's watching Theron, who's watching Haem. 

He backs out of the room before he can change his own mind. 

The water's good. Helps. Better now he has the chance to scrub the Sith off of him. He washes like he's trying to remove a layer of skin, like he needs to start new. He thinks he comes decently close. 

His whole body feels raw. The aggressive bathing is only partly to blame - he feels so damn _naked_. Metaphorically, even though the literal is true too. Theron has to know what he's doing, and he keeps doing it anyway. Giving him stupid, pointless _hope_. Haem doesn't know how to reconcile _glad you think so_ with Theron fleeing from his bed. 

It's hell. It is. Hearing him say things like that, sleeping in Haem's bed every night, and still just leaving. Always leaving. 

He's not too cowardly to admit why he'd felt the need to shower now, of all times. At least to himself, he's not. 

He's hard almost as soon as he caves and starts touching himself. It doesn't take a lot - for fuck's sake, he's been a virgin for twenty-three years now - but Theron's been downright impossible, and he's making things (Haem, ha) a hell of a lot harder. 

He covers his mouth, a precautionary measure for the moment, and tries to will himself not to think about Theron. Anything else. Anyone else. 

But he keeps drifting back to Theron's thigh between his, Theron's hands around his waist, Theron holding him down, sitting on his hips. He's never wanted like this. He's back exactly where he'd been when Theron first joined them on the ship. It hasn't gotten any easier. 

He's not good at being quiet, but the others already know more than enough about what he's doing, so he tightens the hand over his mouth. That doesn't do much to muffle the sounds. A low moan escapes, so he bites down instead, teeth sinking into the heel of his palm - it's not enough to break the skin, but it helps, the sting of pain grounding him a little bit, drowning any words he could say. Maybe that's what he's trying to prevent in the first place. Maybe he knows he's half a moment from repeating Theron's name like a prayer, from begging whatever stars or gods might be listening for something, anything. For _him_. 

Stars, he's pathetic, and he knows it, but he can't bring himself to care. 

"Haem."

He hadn't - fuck, he hadn't even heard the door, but Theron's there anyway, looking for all the world like Haem dreamed him. He's not walking away. He's not _looking_ away, eyes darting between Haem's hand and face. Watching him.

 _Watching him_ , fuck. Some broken noise gets caught in Haem's throat, and he comes. When he opens his eyes, Theron's still staring, gaze fixed on Haem's hips now. His breathing is rough.

He turns and leaves before Haem can speak. He doesn't know what he could have said, anyway. Every option feels like it'd only make things worse. 

Theron's distant, after that, though it doesn't last long. Haem can't resent him for it. He can't tell if he needs to apologize. It seems like Theron had been the one to cross the boundary (not that Haem minded), but it's not as if he can ask anyone what the etiquette is.

"Theron's avoiding you," Kira says the next day, sounding weary already. "What'd you do to him?"

Haem's cheeks get hot, and Kira widens her eyes. 

"You didn't," she says. 

"No," he insists. "I. Yesterday. He came in. And he...looked."

" _Looked?_ " she repeats. Haem hopes he doesn't have to spell it out, but apparently she finds answers on his face. "Oh, _Haem_."

"I didn't do anything," he mumbles pathetically.

"You did enough." She doesn't seem pissed at him, so that's a plus, but there's something like pity in her eyes and he hates that. "This isn't just a physical thing for you, is it?" 

His eyes drop to the floor. He doesn't know if it ever was. He's had the same steady conviction since the moment he laid eyes on Theron in the first place. This runs deeper. 

"You love him." She's still watching his face, he can feel it like she's burning a hole through him. 

"I," he says numbly. "I. Yeah. I do." 

He’s never had to _think_ about it before, not like this, hasn’t tried to tie it up in words all neatly because he’s never breathed a syllable aloud. 

It’s not a surprise, though. He’s always known. 

He loves him.

And it’s going to make a mess of him. And it’s going to break his heart. And it doesn’t matter, because he’d rather have Theron like this than not have him at all. He’d rather hurt like this forever than lose him completely. That’s never been a question.

None of it has been, not really, except how far can Haem blur the lines, how long until Theron stops having patience for him, how long Haem’s going to fall before he hits bottom. He’s been falling since he first laid eyes on Theron back on Telos and the ground dropped out from under him. He’s still falling now. 

Kira hugs him. 

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” she promises, and Haem fights the urge to mention that Theron knows exactly what he’s missing because he’d seen it for himself. He hums noncommittally instead, and knows she notices the lack of agreement, but she has the grace to not comment. 

Theron’s back in his bed before the day’s over.

Belsavis is -

Well. It’s different, because Haem takes Scourge with him, wants to find out how he operates, what he’s like. Brutal, he finds. But not entirely unreasonable. Haem likes him, even though he’s been given little to no real reasoning to back up his opinion so far. Scourge is direct. He respects that. It’s oddly liberating, not having the Code in the back of his mind for once, though it’s not like he thinks about it much to begin with.

He misses Theron something terrible, which he had expected. They’re not wholly without communications, but hearing his voice over a comm and seeing him in blurry blue via holo only makes him feel that much further away - it’s difficult, sleeping without him, more than it has any right to be. 

There’s a bomb, they disarm it, it’s all a blur, except that it feels like it drags for about a hundred years. Haem’s off his game, though he doesn’t really let it show enough to affect his performance in the field. His mind is back on the ship - on Theron - and it’s not easy to come back to the surface of Belsavis. 

It’s more a relief than anything else when they’re finally done there. On to the Korriban’s Flame next, then, and Haem thinks he’s prepared. Surely. Kira asks who’s going to accompany him, and Haem tries to take more than a millisecond to decide, but he blurts “Theron,” before he can stop himself. None of them look surprised. Theron least of all.

Leeha is corrupted, which Haem wishes he’d thought to expect. She crumples, after the fight, says she’s okay, that she’s fought back the Emperor, that she’s sorry. Jomar goes to her immediately, without a second’s hesitation. Haem wishes he didn’t understand.

Jomar begs them not to tell the Council. Haem agrees, instantly, and his eyes go to Theron - Theron, who’s looking at Leeha on the ground, at Jomar holding her, at anyone but Haem.

“Fine,” he says quietly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t come to Haem’s bed, after. Haem tries not to think much of it. He tells himself he’s wandering the ship because he can’t sleep - that much is true - and not because he’s looking for Theron, which he is. It’s not hard to find him. The Cardiac’s not all that big. It’s difficult to lose people, even if you’re trying.

Theron, apparently, is not. He’s up front, in the nav room, with Kira. They’re both staring out at the stars, so quiet Haem thinks they’re ignoring each other at first. He creeps close enough to listen and hates himself for doing it - he knows he’s likely to hear something he would rather not, remembers what he learned the last time, but he’s never been good at restraining himself. 

“Who are you fooling?” Kira asks, finally. Her voice is low, but not so low Haem can’t make the words out. “Not me. Not yourself. Him? Do you really have to?” 

Theron doesn’t reply right away. “I’m not trying to fool anyone,” he says.

“Please.” She shakes her head derisively. “Like you’re not standing here pretending you don’t know exactly where you’d rather be. You’re still not willing to admit it out loud, are you?”

“There’s nothing to admit.”

“ _Sleep_ , Theron.” Her voice is sharper than Haem expected, contrasting the innocuous command. “You know he’s in there waiting for you. You know he’s _never_ going to say no to you. Just fucking _go_.” 

Theron’s quiet again, which Haem doesn’t expect either. He’s not arguing. “You’re projecting,” he says, not harshly.

“I got over it.” 

“Did you?” 

“I did.” Haem can’t see either of their faces. He doesn’t know what he’d see if he could. “I never had a chance, anyway. He’s _yours_ , Theron. You know that even if you’re not willing to say it.” 

Haem’s never - 

He can’t argue. Wouldn’t, even if he was willing to break the silence. It’s true. He knows it. Kira knows it.

Theron knows it.

Haem doesn’t need to stick around to hear verification. He flees, as fast as he can move without making a sound, and gets back to his bed and buries his face in the pillow and wishes he had somewhere farther to run to. He wouldn’t, even if he could, and he knows it - for the same reason he’s not about to lock his bedroom door. 

He feels like his heart is still in his throat when the door opens, Theron entering as silently as he always does. Haem wakes every time anyway. Less because of the noise and more because - well, it’s Theron. Haem knows his presence anywhere. 

He keeps a distance when he gets into the bed, inches of space between them feeling like miles. Haem half wants to bridge the gap himself, to say to hell with it and hold him, but he doesn’t. It’s important, somehow, that Theron be in control here. 

Haem’s nearly asleep when Theron edges closer, wraps his arms around Haem easily, like it’s familiar, like it’s something he does every night - and it is, now. Somewhere this became normal for them. Somehow.

  
  


Voss isn’t what Haem expects it to be. 

He’s been told for years now - eighteen of them - that there’s two sides to the Force. That’s it. There’s light, and there’s dark, and the ground in between is as dangerous as the dark itself. Voss says otherwise. Voss says that’s not true. Haem’s not sure if he believes it - he wants to respect their culture, but it freaks him out, especially the parts where they support inaction in situations that need help - but he likes knowing the concept exists. 

Haem makes a friend. Haem loses a friend. It’s not the first time - far from it - but he never stops feeling the sting, all the same. 

Satele tells them to keep moving. Satele tells them Sedoru is back, and that they need to stop him, so they move. During the holocall, Theron stands across the room from Haem, posture stiff, straight, unflinching. He doesn’t look at Haem. 

Haem doesn’t want to know how many times he looks at Theron.

Sedoru talks. Sedoru falls. It’s routine, now, and Haem hates that. He doesn’t know when it’ll end. He’s afraid it won’t. He’s terrified it will.

As miserable as this is, he understands it. What comes after is hazier. More dangerous, somehow, than ex-Jedi lightsabers pointed at his throat. 

Corellia, next. Some part of Haem is just relieved to have a target. 

Corellia goes by fast. They make him a leader, and at first, he wants to protest. That they’ve given him too much power, that he works alone, that he doesn’t know how to direct an army. It’s easier than he expects. 

Haem fights Tol Braga, and Haem - somehow - talks him down. He doesn’t have time to marvel on it, to question how he’d done it. He doesn’t even have time to dwell on the way Theron had been watching him. They have to keep moving. 

Satele tells them it’s time. Satele tells them to kill the Emperor. 

In a way, it’s a relief. Diplomacy, commanding an army - those skills are new. Unpolished. Haem had to learn on the move, and it shows. 

Being a blunt weapon, though. Being pointed at a target and told to destroy - 

This, he’s always known. This, no one has ever had to teach him. 

None of them discuss the absurdity of the plan. Haem doesn’t think he could handle hearing it. He needs to believe he can do this. He can. He will. He’s going to.

He has to.

It’s different, once they’re actually on Dromund Kaas. The city’s bleeding, and Haem’s adrenaline is already moving, and it starts to set in, finally. That this is happening. That he’s doing this.

It’s one thing to have known, but another entirely in practice.

Haem stops in his tracks as he walks away from the group. T7 chirps questioningly at his side, and Haem turns back. 

"Theron," he calls. He hasn't gotten far yet, but Haem doesn't break stride til he's closed the distance between them, putting a hand on each of Theron's cheeks.

If there were ever a time to be boldly stupid, he thinks it's now. 

"If I'm going to die," he says, and Theron doesn't stop him, which he thinks is all the invitation he's going to get.

Haem kisses him. Full-on, cradling Theron’s face in his hands, gentle but not hesitant, and it’s a first kiss but somehow it doesn’t entirely feel like one. It feels like coming home.

It only lasts a second, before he pulls back, because if he stays any longer he’ll never be able to make himself leave. But he swears Theron kisses back. That he lets go, for a moment, clings to Haem with everything he has, and it feels like a hello and it feels like a goodbye and an _I love you_ and an apology all at once. 

He doesn't know if any of the others were within earshot, if they’d heard him call out for Theron. If they saw. He doesn't care.

Haem pulls away and sets course for the Emperor again without another word. 

Theron doesn't stop him. 

  
  


It takes a while to find Theron at the celebration afterwards. He's on a balcony overlooking the grounds, alone, and Haem's uncannily reminded of the last time they'd been in this situation two years before. He hadn't expected Theron to stay, back then. Hoped, sure. Expected, no.

He doesn't bother announcing his presence before leaning on the rail beside Theron.

Neither of them speak for a long time. It's not for lack of things to say, at least on Haem's part, but he's terrified. Maybe that's foolish. He just killed the Emperor. There shouldn't be anything left to be afraid of.

But there's Theron, so.

"Theron."

He doesn't look at Haem. "Don't do this," he says. "Please don't do this to me."

Haem can't lie to anyone, and he certainly can't lie to Theron. He wears his secrets on his skin, doesn't hide them, doesn't understand how. Theron needs to know, even if he already does. He needs to hear it from Haem.

"I'm in love with you."

It hangs heavy in the air between them. Theron’s eyes close. He’s still looking away. 

“Haem,” he says. The awful resignation in his voice is nothing Haem hadn’t expected, but he’d hoped. He’d _let_ himself hope. 

“I just wanted to say it,” he says, before Theron can finish a sentence. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t - even if you don’t want me, that’s fine, I just.” He cuts himself off. He doesn’t think he’s making things any better for either of them.

Theron exhales. “You know I do.”

He didn’t, actually. It clearly doesn’t change anything, except for the fact he feels about a thousand times worse. It shows on his face, apparently, because Theron finally turns to look at him, and he isn’t even bothering to keep his own expression blank anymore. It feels something like being kicked in the gut. 

“We can’t do this,” Theron says, as gentle as Haem’s ever heard him. There’s _pain_ in his voice. This is hurting him, too, or he wants Haem to think it is - but Haem can’t be that cynical, even now. No, this isn’t easy. Theron is more vulnerable right now than Haem has ever seen him before. Torture, planets lost, no, it’s _we can’t do this_ that finally tears him apart. 

It doesn’t soften the blow. “Haem,” Theron says, and some long-neglected flight instinct seems to finally kick in. 

“I have to go.” Haem’s already backing away.

“Haem,” Theron repeats, but Haem doesn’t stick around to hear whatever he’s going to say. He bolts through the Temple, and a few people try to ask him what he’s doing - Master Satele, notably, which Haem just cannot deal with - but he doesn’t explain, and he doesn’t stop til he gets back to the Cardiac. 

It’s not empty. T7 left early to do some maintenance, and Scourge had skipped the party entirely. Haem doesn’t stop to explain himself to them, either. 

He doesn’t stop moving til he’s in the pilot’s seat, hands shaking on the controls. T7 follows him.

“Something = wrong?” 

“I have to go,” Haem repeats. It’s funny slipping back to the singular, after so long traveling as a unit. 

“Haem = enter location?” 

“Anywhere,” Haem says. “Anywhere, we just have to leave, now, please.”

“Kira + Doc + Rusk + Theron = missing,” T7 informs him, like he didn’t fucking know. “Haem + T7 = wait?” 

“No,” he says immediately. “No. Now. Please.” 

T7 starts chirping confusedly, but he’s interrupted. Not by Haem. Scourge is leaning in the doorway, watching clinically. 

“He’s running from them,” he says. “Aren’t you?”

Haem swallows hard and looks away. He doesn’t know how to answer that. 

Scourge seems satisfied, because he crosses the room, inputting a destination to the galaxy map. It looks to be the middle of uncharted space, not a system the ship recognizes. T7 peeps indignantly. 

“You want to run,” Scourge says, “Then we’ll run.” 

“Where are we - “ 

“Does it matter?”

Haem’s quiet for a long time. He thinks about _please don’t do this to me_ and _you know I do_ , and he knows.

“No,” he says. “No, it doesn’t matter.” 

The calls from the Temple start coming in all at once. They’re near-incessant, for a while, until Haem convinces T7 to block the signals, and the quiet wears on him. He’s still not made for settling, but he can’t go back. Not now. 

Maybe he’s being dramatic. It wouldn’t be the first time. But he’d served his purpose, hadn’t he? The Emperor is dead. They shouldn’t need him anymore. It shouldn’t matter where he is. 

(He never learns the name of the planet, anyway. Asks, but Scourge just scoffs, tells him he doesn't need to know, that it doesn't matter, that it wouldn't make a difference anyway. Eventually Haem stops asking. He wonders if Scourge remembers the name at all.)

It’s a moon, really. Small enough it would take the three of them less than a month to walk the whole thing. Haem barely expects it to hold the Cardiac. 

Scourge sets the ship down, and it’s less than an hour’s walk to the remains of a village. The planet’s not entirely bare, but it’s eerily silent, and the buildings are all long since overgrown. 

“Where are we?” Haem asks finally, even though he doubts he’s going to get a real answer. 

“I was born here.” 

“Oh.” He doesn’t have a real response to that. He’s never asked about where Scourge came from. The subject of his past as a whole seems best left untouched. 

Scourge leads them to the largest of the houses. It’s still mostly intact, walls still standing, light shining in through the cracks in the roof. 

“You lived here?” Haem asks. It’s hard to picture. It looks so...normal. The remaining furniture is dark and ornate, the structure mostly stone. It’s a Sith home, yes, but it’s not especially big, and it clearly hasn’t been touched in centuries. “What happened?” 

“Nothing happened.” 

Haem’s look is enough to earn an elaboration. 

“Those living here simply resettled somewhere else over time. Eventually it was all but forgotten.”

“Except by you.” 

“Except by me,” Scourge says. “Nobody could ever accuse you of not being clever.” 

Haem isn’t bothered by the veiled insult. He’s mostly just relieved. If he keeps moving, they can track him down. If he stays here, though…

Scourge has found him a blind spot. 

“Let’s fix it, then.” 

It takes the three of them two months standard time to make the place liveable. They don’t have to - the ship is more than enough shelter - but it’s something to do, and there’s something healing about it. There’s clean water and enough wildlife to keep them fed, and it seems almost sustainable. Almost.

T7 is uncharacteristically quiet. Haem knows he’s not happy. 

Haem’s not happy either, not really, but he’s sane, and that’s more important. Having something to do - fixing up the house, and then the next house, even though nobody’s ever going to live there - is mindless and keeps him moving. He stops feeling like he’s crawling out of his skin. 

It’s closer to inner peace than any Jedi training ever got him.

“You said you wanted to teach me,” he says to Scourge after the third month. “Teach me.”

Scourge knows him too well by now. He doesn’t try to convert him, doesn’t try to turn him, doesn’t try to teach anything that crosses Haem’s moral boundaries. Just pieces. Steps.

Haem isn’t Sith, but he doesn’t know if he can still call himself Jedi either. 

Scourge doesn’t get angry with him for improvising, which is good, because they wouldn’t get far otherwise. That had been a sticking point for a lot of his previous Masters. He thinks maybe the only reason he’d never had that argument with Master Orgus is that they hadn’t had the time. 

It’s good. It works. It’s not sustainable, but it works. Haem stops setting foot on the ship as soon as he can - it’s haunted by too many ghosts. He doesn’t need to add himself to the list.

Eight months go by, and Haem is startled awake by T7 chirping excitedly. Something has to be wrong. He hasn’t been that happy since they left. 

Haem hates that it’s true, but it is. 

He gets up and stumbles downstairs to find Scourge outside, watching the horizon, arms folded. “Shuttle,” he says, without Haem needing to ask. He points to a speck in the distance. “There.” 

“Shit.”

“I suspect they’re here for you.” 

He’d figured as much. He turns to look at T7, who’s doing circles around them.

“You did this?”

“T7 = innocent.” Haem doesn’t believe him. 

It’s about an hour before they actually see anyone approach. Haem’s been sitting in the grass, fidgeting so much that the ground around him is almost barren where he’s been pulling at it. He hasn’t left the spot. 

A speeder gets close. Haem knows it’s Kira before he even sees the bike. Her presence is familiar, even after this long. There’s no forgetting someone once you’ve connected through the Force like that, no matter how hard you try. 

She dismounts still some ways back. Her hand is on her hilt, her pace fast but precise. She’s being careful, Haem realizes. She thinks there’s danger. That he’s fallen, maybe.

She’s clever. He’s trained her well. He hates himself for giving her cause to be cautious at all. 

When she gets close, she doesn’t speak. 

“Hey,” Haem says.

“Hey.” She looks older, somehow. Stars, has it only been eight months? She’s cut her hair, he notices. 

“You came to get me?”

“You took my stuff.” It’s a blunt statement, but there’s a shake to her voice that gives her away - relief, maybe, or pain, or fear. He can’t tell. He doesn’t know what he hopes for. 

“Jedi aren’t supposed to have material possessions.” It's hard, being sincere, and he wouldn't be able to find the words to explain to her anyway. Old inside jokes, though. Those are simple.

She snorts. It comes out caught between a laugh and a cry. 

“Come home,” she says. 

“I don’t know where that is.” 

Kira doesn’t need to think about it. “Bring the ship back,” she says. “There’s places to go, places they need us. Home is the Cardiac, with me, and T7, and Rusk, and even Scourge, and Doc, I guess. And…”

She has the good sense to cut herself off there. "It's the people in it," she finishes. "All of us. Not just the ship."

It's a little too honest, so Haem switches gears. 

“How’d you find me?” 

“Oh.” Her eyes widen a little like she hadn’t been expecting him to ask. “We’ve been looking. Through the Force. It only took so long because there wasn’t supposed to be a planet out this far.” 

He doesn’t have to ask who _we_ is. 

“I don’t think the Order’s really keen on people quitting for eight months and running away with Sith.” 

“They’ll forgive you.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“They’ll forgive you for anything.” The wobble in her voice is still there. “You’re the Hero of Tython. You killed the Emperor. You can get away with anything.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” 

She sits down on the grass next to him. 

“Come home,” she repeats. 

He leans in, resting his head on her shoulder. He’s missed human contact. Even Haem isn’t about to violate Scourge’s personal space, and T7 did his best to compensate, but it’s really not the same. Even beyond that, he’s just missed _her_. He hasn’t wanted to admit that. 

“I fucked up,” he mumbles. He isn’t sure what he means specifically - the running away, or the Sith training, or fixing houses for nobody. Maybe just by ever telling him at all. 

She pats his head. “I know,” she says. “But it’s nothing we can’t fix.” 

Scourge is surprisingly willing to leave. Haem doesn’t know his reasons, and he doesn’t try to ask. T7 has been elated, so there’s no need to bother trying to convince him. The only one who’s still hesitant is Haem. 

It couldn’t last forever. He knew that from the moment he left. 

That doesn’t make it any easier. 

“Meet me on Tython,” Kira says firmly, hands clasped on Haem’s shoulders. “If you’re not there yet, I’m going to come back here, and I’m going to kill you.” 

“You’re going to make us leave first, aren’t you?” 

She grins. 

"I crossed galaxies for you," she says. "I'm not about to leave you behind now." Her tone is bright, but her eyes are serious, and it feels like they're boring through him. Her hands are still tight on his shoulders.

"You won't." It sounds more like a promise than he'd intended it to. She seems to pick up on it, because she gives him a real, sincere, tender smile, squeezes his shoulders, and steps back.

"I'll see you on Tython," she says. It sounds like _welcome home_.

Takeoff is quiet. T7 is still humming happily, but Scourge is silent, and Haem has nothing to say. He’s kind of wishing they could stay put, actually, but he knows that’s not an option. Kira’s threats aside, he had to go home eventually. Wherever that ended up being. 

He’d like to think she’s right. He’d like to think they’ll all come back, that they can go back to the way things were. That the Cardiac will stop feeling so damned empty. But it’s been long enough that they might have moved on. 

They, like that’s fooling anyone. Like he’s staying awake at night wondering about Doc. They’re family, now, all of them, and Haem would be sorry to see anyone leave, but he knows damn well what he’s really dreading. 

He’s on Tython. 

Haem knows before they so much as dock the ship. Haem knows while they’re still in orbit. Haem's not looking for him, he’s not reaching out, but he knows. 

The gnawing at his ribs only gets worse from there. 

None of them move to leave the Cardiac until Kira knocks on the door. The grin on her face is blinding, like she still suspected he’d stay behind. He can’t blame her. 

It’s strange from the moment he sets foot off the ship. He’d forgotten what the air in the Temple smelled like, the herbs almost but never quite managing to cover the clean Tython mountain breeze beneath. He feels like he’s being stared at, but that might be baseless - Kira’s tugging him through the halls so fast he doesn’t have time to check. He thinks she's heading for Master Satele's office.

He's right.

“Master Satele,” she calls breathlessly, and Haem’s heart drops to his stomach. 

“Kira.” Satele’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but she doesn’t look angry. “Haematic. It’s good to see you both.” 

“I found him,” Kira says, still beaming. 

“I can see that.” 

Kira turns to Haem without letting go of his hand. "Doc's on Coruscant," she says, "Rusk is on assignment, somewhere, but he's miserable, he'd love to come back. And Theron's…" 

Haem's eyes are already across the room. Theron's halfway through the doorway like he doesn't know if he's supposed to come in or not. 

"Theron's here," she says, but Haem barely hears her. 

"Hey."

"Hey," Haem echoes. 

He’s here. He’s safe. 

He’s beautiful.

Haem had known that, obviously. He always has been, it would’ve been silly to expect anything else, but he’s - Haem hadn’t thought eight months had diminished his memory, but he’d been wrong. He’s not different - he’s Theron, still, exactly how Haem remembers, but _more_. It’s another thing entirely seeing him in person. Maybe there’s a little more of a shadow under his eyes, maybe there’s a hint of something like relief in his expression. Haem doesn’t know. It could be wishful thinking. As if he hasn’t memorized Theron’s face. As if he doesn’t know Theron’s expressions better than he does his own. 

Kira looks between the two of them like she's searching for something, then focuses on Master Satele. She lets go of Haem's hand. 

"Master Satele," she says, a little too brightly even for her, "Come talk to T7 and Lord Scourge. The moon used to be a Sith colony, there was probably all kinds of weird stuff there."

Satele doesn't look fooled for a moment, but she nods. "Of course," she says. "Haematic. Theron. If you'll excuse us."

The door closes behind them.

They're alone.

It's impossible not to draw comparisons to the last time. At least Haem isn't about to run away for another eight months. 

He doesn't think he is, anyway. It's not a guarantee.

"Hey," Haem repeats once the silence is starting to set in.

"Hey." Theron lifts a hand like he's thinking about making contact, then lowers it. "You grew your hair out."

Haem runs a hand through it subconsciously. It falls down around his shoulders now, in contrast to how short he usually keeps it. The braid on the side is still there, though, if only because he’s gotten used to it. "I didn't mean to," he says. "It just kind of happened."

"It looks good on you."

It's impossible not to bask in the praise, even now. Haem knows he should keep a distance, knows damn well they can't go back to how things were, but fuck, it'd be so easy to _try_. 

"You think so?"

"Of course." Stars, he says it like it's obvious, and Haem's back where he started. Eight months of distance and all he accomplished was a waste of everyone's time, because he's still just so far _gone_. 

He lets his eyes close for a moment and focuses on evening his breathing. He can't keep running.

"Haem."

He opens his eyes.

"Yeah?"

Theron's quiet for long enough the anxiety starts spiking again.

"I'm just really glad you're home," he says finally. "That's all." 

Haem swallows. "Okay." He very deliberately stares at the tile, at the statues lining the walls, the protocol droid in the corner. Anything but Theron.

"That's not - " Theron makes a frustrated sound, dragging a hand over his face. "That's not all."

"Okay?"

He's never heard Theron have this much trouble putting a sentence together. 

"What I meant to say," Theron says. "I love you."

The clawing in Haem's ribs stops. It's not joy, exactly - something closer to confusion.

"You love me," he repeats, fighting to keep his face blank. 

Theron nods.

"If this is some pity thing - " 

"It's not a pity thing," Theron says. 

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I knew," Theron says. 

"Since when?"

"Always." 

Haem can't tell if he's talking about himself or Haem. He doesn't want to know how stricken his own face looks when he says "And you didn't - "

 _Didn't stop me_ , he doesn't say. Or _didn't want me_. Theron had denied that one even then. 

"I wanted to." Theron steps closer. "Stars, I wanted to. But I thought…" He exhales. "I thought if I had to choose between you and the Order, I could. That I could be satisfied. That it was enough."

Haem doesn't speak. 

"But losing you completely...that _wrecked_ me."

Haem eyes him doubtfully. He doesn't look like much of a wreck. He looks like he always does, so, gorgeous. 

Apparently Theron notices. "Things were bad," he promises. "You can ask Kira. I was...it wasn't good." 

"What changed your mind?"

"Jedi aren't supposed to form attachments. That's the whole thing, right? But you left, and I just…" He shakes his head. "I already was. Attached. Stupidly, dangerously attached. And all I was doing was…" Haem's eyes are locked on Theron's face. He looks horrifically, achingly sincere. "All I was doing was hurting you."

“I can’t.” Haem doesn’t plan on saying it until the words are already leaving his mouth. He can’t put it into words, can’t make it sound pretty or straightforward, can’t explain it any better. He loves Theron with everything he has. That’s not in question. But he’s been alone for eight long months, and he needs to remember who he’s supposed to be, how to function, how to breathe.

Theron doesn’t look surprised to hear it. “I figured,” he says, looking away. “I know I fucked up.” 

They’re both staring at the floor now. 

“I just thought,” Theron says, huffing something that’s almost a laugh. “I just...needed you to know, I guess.” 

Maybe it’s dumb. Maybe it’s a mistake. But Theron’s standing where Haem had been eight months before, and he’s not running, and Haem’s missed him. Stars, he’s missed him so _much_. 

He steps forward before he can stop himself and wraps his arms around Theron, clinging, breathing him in. He still feels familiar. Even after this long, their bodies are the same. 

There’s a moment before Theron responds, and then his arms tighten, his head buried in Haem’s shoulder. It’s better when neither of them try to talk. Easier. Simpler. Haem’s hands know how to communicate all the things he can’t put into words. 

He doesn’t know how long they stay still, but eventually there’s footsteps from the hall. Haem glances up in time to see the door open, but doesn’t bother letting go or backing away. 

“Sorry,” Kira whispers. “I’ll try to keep buying you time.” She’s back out the door before Haem can so much as acknowledge her presence. He closes his eyes again, but it seems like as soon as he’s settled Theron leans back, gently tugging Haem’s head up. Not far, not away, just enough that Haem can see his face. 

Theron opens his mouth to speak, but quickly looks distracted. “Are you crying?”

He hadn’t noticed, but he’s not surprised. “Probably,” he says, and Theron reaches up and wipes a tear from Haem’s cheek. “I have a lot of feelings.”

“I’ve noticed.” His hand lingers longer than it needs to. 

Haem hesitates for a long time before speaking. He owes Theron an explanation, but he doesn’t have one to give. 

“We should go,” he says finally, feeling like a coward. “Before Kira comes to get us again.” 

Theron takes a long breath and nods. If he has questions, he’s not asking them.

Kira’s already contacted the other members of their team. They’re going to pick them up, first Doc on Coruscant, then Rusk somewhere out near Belsavis. Haem hadn’t actually expected everyone to agree to come back. He’s starting to think maybe being together was as important to the rest of them as it was to him. He hadn’t ever really considered that before. 

They leave Tython late, on track to be on Coruscant by morning. They all linger in the holo room talking until it’s probably far too late - even Scourge seems engaged, and Haem wonders how long he’d wanted to come home, how badly Haem had hurt him, too. He’d made his best friends in the world miserable, both the ones who had come with him and the ones who had stayed behind. When they finally start dispersing, they’re halfway to Coruscant, and Haem’s exhausted, but he lingers in the doorway anyway. He hasn’t been back here much in the time since he’d left. He hasn’t wanted to look at Theron’s space. Everything is exactly as it had been left eight months before. 

Theron’s sitting on the couch by the holo table the exact same way he has been for hours now, and he’s watching Haem. Kira and Scourge and T7 have all gone to bed for the night. It’s just them. 

“I should sleep,” Haem says, and then “Do you want - “

“Yes.” 

Haem offers his hand, and Theron takes it. It’s not like they don’t both know the way, but Haem leads Theron to his room anyway, and he doesn’t let go until he has to so he can get his shirt off. Neither of them undress fully, but they both strip to underwear, and this time, Haem doesn’t hesitate to press in close. He’s missed this so badly. He’s missed _Theron_ , more than he knows how to put into words. 

He buries his head in Theron's neck, and, for a while, just breathes. 

"I'm sorry," he says finally. 

Theron's hand stills on his waist. "For which part? The leaving, or the…"

"Both," Haem says. It's easier to speak when he doesn't have to look at him. He feels _safe_. "All of it. Especially the," he says, and leaves it at that.

"It's okay." Theron sounds like he means it. He doesn't ask for an explanation, which is part of why Haem feels like he needs to give him one.

"It's just so much." Theron's stroking along his hip again, gentle, careful. "You. Me. Us. How I feel about you is just…" Haem exhales slowly. "I don't want you to think I don't. Because I do." He's starting to stumble over his words already. "I do love you. I love you an overwhelming amount and I don't know how to - I can't do that again. If Scourge hadn't been around, I might have lost my mind. I mean, I did, a little bit. And I can't - " he cuts himself off, forces himself to breathe. "I can't do that again."

Theron doesn't speak until it's clear he's done. "I get it," he says, which makes it worse. "And I doubt it'll help, but for the record: if I have any say in it, you won't have to."

"You can't promise that."

"I can." He sweeps Haem's hair off his face. "And I do. I do promise that."

"You don't - "

"As long as you want me, you have me. Whether you change your mind or not. I'm going to be here as long as you let me." 

Haem doesn't know what to say to that. He presses a kiss into the hollow of Theron's throat instead, lips right above his pulse. 

"I'm not complaining," Theron says, "But I need to know where you're going with this."

Haem exhales. "I don't know," he says. "I love you." 

"I love you, too." Neither of them have ever actually said that before. Every other admission has gone unrequited. But Theron says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. 

He tugs Haem's head up, just enough to kiss his forehead. "You need to sleep." 

He's right, but Haem hums noncommittally. 

"We can figure it out," Theron says. "We have time. For now, it can wait."

"Okay." Haem is starting to believe him. "I love you," he repeats. Maybe it's excessive. He's gone three years without saying it, though. He thinks he deserves to.

"I love you, too." Haem can feel Theron's heartbeat where their chests are pressed together. Steady, and constant, and keeping rhythm with his own.

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is Theron's neck. 

Haem had settled further on top of him in the night, apparently, because there's not a fraction of an inch between them, hips fitted close in a way that's impossible to ignore entirely. He kisses Theron's neck again, in the same place as the night before. 

"Morning," Theron says. 

Haem lifts his head up to look at him. "Morning," he says, relearning his face. "You skipped meditations." 

"I figured I could take a day off once in a while." His voice is a little strained. "Besides, I had other priorities."

Theron wants him, Haem realizes, brain finally catching up. Theron _wants_ him. He's hard. They both are. Haem's had a thousand different dreams like this. He's _woken_ _up_ a thousand times like this, only for one of them to run. 

He thinks about rolling his hips down, about burying his face in Theron's neck, biting til it's stained purple and red. He could, which is new, and terrifying. 

He'd meant everything he said, but it's tempting to pretend he didn't. To ignore the loose ends and just let them have this.

Theron deserves better, though. 

He pulls back, reluctantly, and sits up. "Coruscant," he says, and he can still feel Theron watching him, the want thrumming under both their skins. 

"Coruscant," Theron repeats. He takes it so well Haem almost reconsiders. "Let me take a really cold shower first?"

The imagery doesn't help Haem's situation any, but he nods. "Of course." It's not a bad idea, actually, but he knows following Theron into the refresher would be a mistake.

He leaves his room to find the ship empty. For a moment, he freezes. It's too close to before, hollow, empty. Like he never came back at all.

But if he focuses, he can hear the water running, and that helps. Something tangible. Something real. Evidence he's not still on that fucking rock, that he has his family back.

When he gets to the front, he finds a datapad with a note from Kira. She says she thought they needed a little space, and that she'd taken T7 and Scourge with her to pick up Doc. Haem's heartbeat finally starts returning to normal. They're coming back. They're coming home. 

He can breathe a little easier after that. 

The water shuts off before there's any sign of the others. 

Theron finds him sitting on the floor in the front of the ship. He's put on pants, but his chest is bare, his hair still soaked. He's beautiful.

"Hey," he says. "You okay?"

"Better now." Haem accepts Theron's offered hand to pull him to his feet. He still hasn't dressed, himself, which was maybe a mistake. Neither of them seem to want to let go. Haem wants to touch him so _bad_ , and he could. The thought that he's allowed to now is almost overwhelming. 

"I know I don't know what I'm doing," he blurts. "I meant everything I said, I'm still so fucking scared, but - " His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Can I try something?"

"Of course." 

Haem steps closer, bringing the hand not clasped in Theron's up to trace his ribcage. Theron's breathing is steady, but his heartbeat is speeding up immediately, and Haem is reminded that this is new for him, too. That he's not the only one who doesn't know what he's doing.

It's more comforting than it has any right to be.

He swallows hard and kisses Theron.

It's the first time they've actually, properly kissed since Dromund Kaas. Theron's mouth opens for him almost instantly - whether it's intentional or Haem just caught him off-guard, he can't tell, but he bites gently at Theron's mouth anyway. 

Theron's hand tightens around his. Haem works his thigh between Theron's more on instinct than anything else, hand sliding down to cup his hip, and neither of them seems to expect how quickly Theron grinds forward.

It's new, and yes, terrifying, but beautiful. Stars, he's beautiful. 

Haem only pulls back once neither of them can breathe. Theron's eyes are closed, his breathing ragged, vise-grip on Haem's fingers only just starting to loosen. 

"So that's," Haem says, and Theron nods.

"Guess so."

Haem doesn't know where to go from here. Extract himself and flee? More cold showers? Stay here? 

He has a _bed_. He's still not used to that being an option. 

He's spared from any real decision-making, though, because the door opens. They both turn to watch the stairs at the same time. 

"I'm _ho-ome_ ," Doc crows, bounding up the stairs. "I know you missed me, so don't bother -" 

When he rounds the corner, he sees them, and stops in his tracks. Haem's never shut him up that efficiently before. 

"Well, hey," Doc says finally. "Don't let us spoil your fun." 

Kira joins him quickly. "You have a bedroom," she reminds Haem. "Generally people use those for this sort of thing."

"I'm not," Haem says, at the same moment Theron says "We weren't," and Kira rolls her eyes. 

"There's too much hand-on-ass going on for that excuse." 

" _Oh_." Haem hadn't really stopped to process it beyond _yes_ and _more of that, please_. Theron has the grace to look self-conscious.

He doesn't move his hand, though.

"Are you guys seriously not going to move?" Kira asks, then glances at where their hips are still pressed together. "Oh," she says, "Oh, yikes," and turns around, catching Doc by the arm and spinning him to face away. 

"What was that for?" he asks, sounding insulted. "I think you bruised me!"

"Go to your room," she says, ignoring Doc. "I don't care what you do after that. Go nuts. But if you want to come back out here, put some damn pants on." 

"Theron's wearing pants," Haem says. 

" _Go._ "

He glances at Theron, who shrugs helplessly. "I guess we're going," he says, and steps back, still holding Haem's hand. 

Haem's eyes flick downward for a second, and yes, okay, there he is. They've shared a bed enough times that feeling Theron hard isn't _entirely_ new, but seeing it, that's different. He thinks he's probably flushed already. 

He lets Theron lead him back to his room, and it's a short walk but it really doesn't feel like it. 

Once the door is shut, neither of them seem to know what to do. Haem's frozen, staring at Theron's chest, watching the rise and fall of his breathing. He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know where they go from here.

His body's already made up its mind, but it's not that simple. 

“Hey,” Theron says, gentle and a little concerned. “Hey. You’re alright. It's just me." He steps forward, hesitantly brushing the hair out of Haem's face. "We'll get dressed," he says, "And go listen to Doc's stories, and try and figure out which parts are actually true. Okay?"

Haem nods. Theron kisses him, only for a moment, closed-mouth and careful. 

"Okay?" Theron repeats.

"Okay."

And that's what they do.

It's good. Better than Haem expected. He never thought he missed Doc, but the ship is so much more vibrant with him around - living, breathing, like it's a _home_ again. It seems to take a weight off everyone's chests. Kira has been pushing herself too hard, trying to fix all the gaps on her own. It's wearing on her. She's better now, though, back to herself instead of trying to be someone she's not. 

Haem missed her terribly. He's not going to forget that feeling anytime soon.

Haem doesn't have to ask Theron to come to bed that night. He hadn't needed to for a long time before, but coming home changed the boundaries, understandably. 

"They're still doing that, huh?" Doc asks Kira under his breath as Theron takes Haem's hand and starts to leave the room. 

"I think they're finally figuring it out," she says, and that's all Haem can make out before Theron's pulled him down the hallway.

The door to Haem's room closes behind them. Theron stops him with a hand on his chest before they undress. 

"I just wanted you to know," he says, "We don't. I mean. I can wait." He's being so damn _good_ about it it hurts. "I want you," he adds, looking away. "Obviously. But I've also had eight months to be thinking about all the things I wished I'd done to you while I had the chance, so. I know you weren't expecting this. And if you're still... that's fine, I'm not...." He swallows hard. "What I'm saying is I love you. Whatever you want, I'm on board." 

"How long were you working on that?"

"Too long." He moves to drop his hand, but Haem catches it around the wrist, keeping it where it is.

"I love you, too." That's about the only thing he's certain of at this point. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know." Theron's free hand finds Haem's, intertwining their fingers. "I don't either, really. But you knew that. It's just you. It's only ever been you." 

It's one thing to know objectively and another to hear it from him himself. 

"I," Haem says inelegantly. "I...yeah. Me too." 

Theron smiles. It sparks something warm deep in Haem's chest, something tender. Haem wants to make him smile like that every _day_.

"We don't have to do anything," Theron repeats. "I've waited twenty-six years. I can wait a little longer."

"No," Haem says, before he has the chance to overthink. "No, I...I want to."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I've ever been of anything." This part he understands, scared as he still is. The wanting, he knows. 

Theron's fingers tighten around his.

"If you're sure," Theron says, letting out a long, slow breath. "You should let go of my wrist so your shirt can come off." 

"You have to let go of my hand first."

Theron glances down at their hands like he hadn't realized they were touching, and untangles their fingers. Haem lets go of his wrist, and it drops, though just to the hem of Haem's shirt. They've slept together almost naked every night since Haem got back (and some before that). It shouldn't feel like that big a deal. 

It does, though. 

Theron can read him too well. He tugs Haem's shirt off and steps closer, kisses him like it'll make his hand on Haem's waistband any less intimidating. It does, to some extent, which only furthers Haem's point. He works Haem's pants off carefully, then sheds his own clothes fast. They leave underwear on, for now. It's strange (fantastic) being able to look at him without feeling guilty for it. This time, Haem's allowed to.

He traces Theron's chest gently, reverently. 

"You have forever for this," Theron reminds him. "Don't stress now."

"I want to remember. Everything." 

Haem stops overthinking.

He backs Theron towards the bed, not stopping when his knees hit the mattress, pressing til Theron's sitting on the edge with Haem on his lap. He kisses Theron, and this, he understands. His body has always been certain of what it wanted, never mind his head. 

Theron pulls back to breathe first.

"Are you," he says, and Haem cuts him off.

"You're being really sweet," he says, which is true. "But if you ask if I'm sure again, I'm putting you in an escape pod and launching it."

The threat is empty, hollow, toothless. There's no bite to the words. No venom. Theron grins.

"Point taken." 

"As if I haven't wanted this longer than you have," Haem says, softer. "As if I haven't been thinking about this since the day I met you."

Theron kisses his cheek, hands settling on Haem's lower back. "I know," he admits. 

"It was like...like having the wind knocked out of me." He's tried to find the words before, and none of them ever seem like enough. "Like I was being pulled. The Force was trying to tell me, I think. And I just...knew." 

Theron's head drops onto Haem's shoulder. 

"Like I belonged with you," Haem says.

"I know."

Haem's thought about it a hundred thousand ways, but he's never tried to say it out loud before. It's nice just being able to admit.

"I felt it, too." Theron's speaking mostly into Haem's neck, but it's clear all the same. 

Haem hadn't expected that. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't wondered, but after this long he'd doubted it.

"You hid it pretty well," he murmurs, maybe a little breathless. Whether it's due to the words themselves or the way Theron's breathing them onto his skin, he doesn't know.

"You were freaking out enough for both of us. Someone had to be normal." He kisses Haem's neck, and Haem shivers. "Or maybe I'm just a better liar than you think I am." 

"Don't," Haem starts, before Theron's lips on his neck make his breath catch. "Don't lie to me anymore." 

It sounds more like an order than he'd intended. 

"I won't," Theron promises. Haem runs fingers up through his hair, and Theron makes an appreciative hum, gently sucking a mark into Haem's throat. 

"Keep doing that," Haem manages. Theron's hand slides down from his waist. Maybe it's intentional, maybe not, either way Haem certainly doesn't mind. 

"Bossy." He's more beautiful than Haem's ever seen him. Soft and radiant and all too pleased with himself - the first two are perfect, the third less so, even if it's an annoyingly good look on him. Haem rolls his hips forward deliberately, and any smugness on Theron's face vanishes. 

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes, hand tightening on Haem's ass. Haem tugs him in for a kiss.

He's not sure exactly how long it is before he presses Theron down onto his back across the bed. Theron doesn't resist - just pulls Haem down on top of him, which he didn't really have to try hard for. His legs are still hanging off the bed, and Haem pulls back, albeit reluctantly.

"Turn the other way," he insists, ignoring Theron's low hum of protest. "It'll be better."

" _Bossy_ ," Theron repeats, but there's affection in his voice, and he complies. 

It feels like something of a Big Deal.

Theron's here and he's beautiful and he's _listening_. He's lying here, spread out and lovely and wanting, and Haem's allowed to have him. Finally. _Finally_.

"You just planning to sit there and look at me?" 

Haem's eyes dart back to Theron's face. "I'm," he says. He doesn't know how exactly he intends to end the sentence.

"Come _here_."

This time, Haem's the one who obeys. Theron kisses him gently, and the sweetness is enough to wake Haem up a little, to remind him that he's here and he's real and it's happening. 

He drops his hand to the waist of Theron's underwear and tugs gently. He's not going to make any real progress, but it's mostly just a signal. Theron takes the hint.

Haem's seen him naked before. He's seen him hard before. But not both.

Which is probably a good thing, because he's staring openly and he doubts he would've ever had a different reaction. 

_Stars_ , Theron's pretty. Haem wants so badly it's almost overwhelming. He swallows hard, tracing a finger along Theron's hip, the defined line where it meets his stomach. 

Theron's breathing is rough. 

"You're killing me here," he says. There's an edge to his voice, an impatience Haem doesn't often hear from him.

"Can't let that happen," Haem says, and before he can change his own mind he traces two fingers across Theron. He gets a full-body shudder in return. 

"Okay?"

" _Yes_ ," Theron says immediately. "Yes. That. More of that." 

As far as reactions go, it's definitely encouraging. He strokes Theron again, bolder this time, watching him intently. He needs to memorize what his face looks like right now. The voice in his head saying he'll never get the chance again is a quiet one, but it's present all the same. The sounds coming from Theron's throat do go a long way toward drowning it out, though. 

He lets the new confidence carry, shedding his own underwear and straddling Theron's hips quickly. He leans in to kiss him, but Theron shakes his head. "Give me a second," he says. "I want to look at you."

It only seems fair. 

Fairness isn't entirely the reason Haem sits up, giving Theron a better view. That has arguably more to do with the warmth pooling in his stomach at the thought. Theron has spent no short amount of time looking at Haem's body before, but _hold still, I want to inspect you for injuries_ is a far cry from _hold still, I want to look at you while you're on top of me and also we're having sex right now._ Haem had liked the former, but the latter is a different situation entirely.

Theron's _looking_ at him. Stars. He can feel the flush spreading already. 

"Beautiful," Theron says simply, and pulls him back down into a kiss. 

They fit together easily, hands entwined around them both. It's almost overwhelming, but Theron nips at Haem's lip, and the sting grounds him. 

"Do you want," he starts, catching a breath. Theron answers before he can finish the sentence.

"I want to make you come."

Haem very nearly does, at that. "You've seen me come," he manages. They haven't spoken about the refresher incident since it happened, but he's distracted enough for his filter to lapse. 

"And I want to see it again." 

"Trust me, that isn't going to be a problem." Haem hates how shaky his voice is already, but most of his attention is locked on _don't come yet don't come yet don't come yet_. Theron's free hand slides back down to Haem's ass, and his breath catches, mouth sliding messily down Theron's jaw to his neck. He bites down (gently - but not too gently) and Theron, apparently, approves. His grip tightens, enough that Haem might have finger-shaped bruises in the morning. They'll match Theron's neck, then. Haem's already working marks into the skin, blooming red and purple. Good. No secrets, anymore.

"Stop holding _back_ ," Theron says, breathless, and wraps his leg up around Haem's hip, dragging him closer. It's enough to break whatever remaining resolve he'd had left. He comes onto their joined hands and onto Theron, mouth falling slack against his neck. 

"Fuck," Theron breathes, and Haem shakes off the haziness long enough to try something. 

He pulls back, moving with enough purpose Theron doesn't try to stop him, and lies down between Theron's legs.

"Can I," he starts, and Theron nods immediately.

"Anything," he says, pulling Haem's hair back, holding it out of his face. He's got a decent grip on the roots, and Haem likes the pressure, the reminder. He drops his head, carefully, and Theron’s hand tightens for a moment reflexively. 

“Haem,” he says, like a warning, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Haem’s ever heard in his life. 

For the first time in years, Haem wakes up, and he’s not afraid.

The Emperor is dead. The Council can’t touch them, not really. They know better. They might not be happy, but they won’t disbar the Hero of Tython, not after all he’s done. Haem’s safe. His crew is back together. He doesn’t know where they’re going after this, but he’s not worried. No one can touch them now. 

Theron’s breathing is steady beside him. Haem’s never woken up early enough to see him sleeping before. Stars, he’s beautiful. And Haem gets to _keep_ him. He’s not letting go again. 

They’re okay.

They’ll be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only the longest finished thing I've ever written, but I started writing this in July 2019 and it's been almost done since January, which is the fastest I have ever written anything ever. This story is my baby. It started as a section of a five times fic and turned into its own beast entirely. There are parts of myself in here, I cried a lot while writing, and it needs polishing but I have to let it go now or I never will. My writing has improved since, I'd like to think. Maybe eventually I'll edit this again. No promises.  
> If you'd like a visual reference of Haem, there's screenshots of him in my [Haem tag(link fixed)](http://gavorn.com/tagged/haem-tag) on my tumblr.  
> (eta: Probably should have mentioned supplementary material is available in my [tag for the fic](http://gavorn.com/tagged/when-all-the-stars-align), if you're interested.)  
> If you've read this far, thank you. That's all I can say.


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